On becoming a doctor...and a mom

It was my junior year of college. After years of preparation, I was in the process of studying for my medical school entrance exams and completing my application. At the same time I was wondering whether I really wanted to embark on what I knew would be a long and difficult journey. I don't exactly fit the typical doctor personality. I have had more than one advisor/attending point this out to me over the years. During this same year, in fact, my college pre-med advisor had recommended I pursue an alternate career because he wasn't sure I had the leadership (or maybe “bossing” type skills) to become a doctor. Looking into PA school was something I was actively considering. Not really because I felt I didn't have what it takes to be a doctor. I realize that I am not the typical doctor personality. And even though my advisor's “advice” was pretty brutal and discouraging, it also made me take a good look at the path I was taking and come to the conclusion that I was called to be a doctor because I was passionate about helping others, not because I was passionate about cellular or molecular biology, and not because I enjoy prestige or being in charge of others (I really don't...). And that was ok. The reason I was taking a good long look at the path I had been pursuing since I could remember was that, in the back of my head, I knew what I really hoped and dreamed of most in life was to be a wife and mom.

I knew that the doctor path meant 4 years of med school (did I mention they were kind of long and hard years...), 3 years of residency (ditto) and then a hefty amount of student loans to pay off and a career that, at least until recently, has been generally considered an all-consuming, overflowing into your personal life kind of deal. And I knew that part of me really just wanted to be a stay at home mom. The problem was I had never even held hands with anyone of the XY variety, let alone have any kind of boyfriend or real confidence that that would be in my future. All I knew for sure was that it would be me and God and that He would give me all that I needed and that my heart's desire was to serve Him through missions. When I thought about the real possibility that I could be single for the rest of my life I felt that, even without the dreamed for husband and family, I could find real purpose and meaning in doing medical missions. I prayed a lot about it. I was truly open to switching gears and going towards PA school, but I continued to find a peace about continuing in my original pursuit. And then I felt His confirmation when, after initially doubting if I'd even be accepted into med school, I was accepted to my first choice of medical schools – a school that also happened to be one of the top in the nation. A school that was also in my hometown of Dallas, close to my family, close to my sister who had recently been diagnosed with recurrent cancer. I felt the Lord's confirmation, presence and blessing. And my advisor who had once doubted whether I was really “doctor material” was now kind of bragging on me and my acceptance to UT Southwestern :)

Little did I know that literally just a few weeks after my acceptance I would embark on the beginnings of a relationship with the kindest, most humble, servant-hearted and honorable man I know. We had known each other since orientation weekend, but in the Lord's timing, we didn't actually start dating until the summer before medical school, a point at which I was pretty committed to this path. I look back at this season and it definitely wasn't easy. It felt pretty dark and confusing most of the time. It's one of those times that you look back on and wonder why God doesn't give you a little sneak peak into the future. But he didn't. If I had known then what I know now.... but I didn't. That was my journey in faith, and I moved forward despite a fair amount of trepidation, me and God, knowing He prepared the path that I was fumbling along and that He would not lead me astray.

Fast forward 10 years. I have made it through the 4 long years of medical school, 3 years of intense work and constantly feeling over one's head that is residency and my first year in practice. I have also been surprised by a proposal from the love of my life, a beautiful wedding, a year off of med school in Costa Rica together after our wedding, and the birth of the two cutest little bundles of joy I could ever have imagined. I am doing what I had hoped I could do – serving. I am listening to men and women struggling with depression and anxiety when I know they often have no one else to talk to. I am getting down on my knees scraping off crusted skin from an elderly woman's legs and cleaning wounds that sometimes smell worse than I care to describe. I am the doctor and, more so, the listening ear to a young African American man with HIV who has told almost no one in his everyday life about his diagnosis. Every day I listen, treat, try my best not to run too late on my schedule, research the things I really don't know enough about, coordinate care, laugh with my patients and cry with them. I am not the best doctor. I trained with some pretty amazingly intelligent people and I have a realistic view of the extent of my scientific and medical abilities. But I know that I care, and I can tell that it makes a difference. I watch as my sweet patients, most of whom are on welfare, bring me vegetables from their gardens, a pair of earrings as a Christmas present, a homemade quilting project, and (cutest of all) a miniature homemade armchair for my daughter. I know it makes a difference.

But there's one thing I don't do. I don't stay at home with my kids. I work about 30 hours a week, sometimes more. I don't go on play dates. I don't drop my daughter off at preschool on her first day or make it to most of her preschool parties or field trips. I don't do cute crafty projects during their naps. I don't do MOPS, or mom's bible study or any number of other activities that I look wistfully at. I don't even make dinner most nights. I hardly ever grocery shop or do laundry (ok, can't say that I really miss these, but still, kind of makes one feel like they've lost their “mom card”).

And I really miss it. I came from a sort of “stay-at-home-mom” legacy. So did Brian. That same part of me that once considered giving up on my lifelong dream of being a doctor for the slim possibility that I might get to be a mom instead is still alive and well. And now I have those kids. Did I mention they're two of the most adorable children you'd ever meet? And there's a big part of me that aches to be with them. I believe in the role of a stay at home mom. Thankfully, my amazing husband has embraced the role of discipling and raising our kids with passion and love. He really is doing an amazing job. He is the dad at the preschool party with all the mom's talking about who's pregnant, the dad who knows how to make chicken tikka masala and homemade cookies, the dad who knows the HEB aisles like the back of his hand, and he's the expert on his kids' idiosyncrasies and heart issues. And he rocks it. But I'd be lying if I didn't still sometimes (most of the time?) wish I could do some of that. And I know some of this is a little bit of idealization. Because, the reality is, I've never actually done it. I love my kids, I spend intentional time with them, I know them well, and they know and love me. But most of this time when I am investing in their sweet little lives Brian is around too. He's my back-up when I'm trying to cook and my 18 month old is trying to help, when I start changing a poopy diaper and realize it's much more than I bargained for, or when I am exhausted and really just need a nap or a few minutes of down time. I've never actually done the greuling day-in, day-out, 24/7 job that being a stay-at-home parent is. I know it's not all fun and easy. But part of me still wants to take it on and love on and disciple my kids 24/7 'till their cute little noses pop off.

So this is the part where I look back. Where I remember. Where I am glad that God didn't give me the sneak peak after all and where I'm glad that, in the end, it really still is just me and Him. He brought me here. God knows I didn't make it on my own. I didn't embark on this journey lightly. I didn't run after my dream without stopping to seek and ask His will. Not that I was super spiritual at the time - it really just was such a difficult time that I had no choice but to look to Him in tears, out of my place of need. And so now, finding myself in the middle of “my dream” and still most days wondering why I don't look like every other stay-at-home mom at church whom I so respect and admire, I stop. I don't know why this was His path for me, but I am confident it was His. Our family doesn't really look like any others I know. And I'm ok with that. My hope is in Him and I know that He is faithful to finish the good work He has started in us.